The Ghost of Valeria Chateau
by Keiichi Loire
Summary: Oneshot based on Beyond the Event Horizon. Valeria Chateau had been bought by the Raids after Irving and Altaecia Valeria died, but after an incident 19 years ago it was mysteriously closed off and abandoned. This is the reason why.


The Boy from Valeria Chateau

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You are to feed him, clothe him, take care of him. But you are not to speak to him. Keep as little contact between him and you. And in any and all cases, you must not love him. Is that clear?

Allion woke. The person who took care of him was gone; he had left some food at the table. He went to it and ate, feeling lonely. But that made little difference to him, because that was the way it always was in the empty mansion: lonely.

Large rooms and empty corridors. Always dark, because the chandeliers were never lit. The caretaker left at sunset. He used to be there all night, to give him milk, to change him when he wet himself. But as he grew, the caretaker came less and less. Nowadays, he barely came at all. Just to change the sheets, check the bathroom and the wardrobe, bring him food thrice a day. He hardly ever saw him. A bell would ring, and Allion would know the next meal had been served in the vast house, and the next bed had been made. He would go, and there would be no one. He couldn't even remember his face, anymore.

He had made it into a game, now: He would roam the endless hallways trying to guess where the caretaker would next turn up. But the man was better. A few footsteps, a well-placed knock, a telltale cough. A swish of the curtains, and Allion was there, but nothing would be found. The ring of the bell would mean the game was over, and he had lost.

The house was the whole world to him. He knew every nook and cranny, every heavy steel blind, which refused to budge no matter how much he pushed at it. No matter. He didn't care much about the outside world, anyway. The windows were only there to let in sun. There were winding corridors and a multitude of rooms to explore. There were pictures to peer at, and old furniture to scramble over. There were bugs and spiders, and veils of cobwebs all over the place. And it was all his. All his, all alone.

One time, he decided to keep a vigil. He prowled the big house all day, waiting for the caretaker to come. He wanted to see another face, so badly. He was tired of looking at mirrors and portraits. He had to see something else besides the spiders and the ants.

He heard something. He gave chase, and that something began to run. Careless footsteps thudded across the hall; he darted after them. Something turned a corner, going faster. And then it was gone. Allion didn't get any food that day. He finally fell asleep. He woke up, and the next meal was served before him. And that's how it always was. He understood. Everything he needed would come, but he must always keep away. No more chasing. No more searching. The game was over.

There was a pair of double doors in one particularly large room of the house, with a pair of curving staircases a short distance from them. Allion liked this place the best of the entire house, because it had the most light. He liked to sit here and watch the tiny beams play on the dusty floor. He liked the way they moved as the day passed. He liked the way they faded when darkness came. When it was dark, there'd be nothing to watch. So he would sleep. When he woke up, there would be light again. And the bell would ring. Once. Twice. Ding. Ding. Then he would leave the room and search again.

He'd found out early that doors always lead somewhere. The caretaker would turn the knob, then push or pull them, and a new room would appear. It was one of the things he'd learned before the caretaker went away. For that reason, he felt bad about learning anything. When he learned anything, something would disappear. When he learned to eat on his own, he stopped being fed. When he learned to dress himself up, he stopped being clothed. When he learned to go potty, he stopped getting changed. When he learned to bathe, he was left to do it alone. 

When he learned to open doors, he was abandoned.

But the big doors in the bright room did not open. No matter how he pushed and pulled, turned, poked, and prodded, they would not budge. Something was wrong with these doors. Something different.

And then he'd learned to leave it alone, and it ceased to be a mystery.

He was sitting in his room now, eating the food the caretaker had left him. Dry breadcrumbs fell to the floor; the caretaker had taught him how to eat, but he didn't need to teach him manners. Allion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he went to where the water was kept, in a small steel tube with a knob in the cellar. If any breadcrumbs were left on his face, they would turn itchy. Besides, he was thirsty.

He took the long flight of stairs down. In the old days, when the caretaker was here, they would climb into a tiny room with doors that slid and had no knobs. The caretaker would push some colored buttons that looked like the candy he'd sometimes bring. The tiny room would move and the doors would open, into a place that was different than before. What tricky doors.

He'd tried the trick himself. He'd push and push at the buttons then open the doors to see if they went somewhere different. But they never did. But then, it was different. His doors had knobs, and they didn't open on their own. And then he'd eaten the candy. He wondered if those buttons in the tiny room tasted as good. But he'd never know. Those doors never opened for him.

Allion turned the knob in the cellar. Drip, drip, drip. The water was leaving puddles on the floor. Allion washed his hands and ran them across his face, through his greasy brown hair. He combed it out of his eyes, but a small patch always stuck out over his forehead. It didn't matter. It wasn't in the way, anyway. Drip, drip, drip. The water was running out. Allion closed the knob.

He heard footsteps in the dark. But they weren't his, or the caretaker's. There was a light around the corner. It shined in his eyes.

It hurt! He brought his hand up, shielding them. He looked past his hand at whatever was holding the light.

It was a boy. He couldn't have been older than Allion himself, but he had grey-blue hair. And deep, blue eyes. He was holding a lamp that was painfully bright. He turned it down. Now Allion could see. The boy stepped forward.

"Hello." The boy said. To Allion, this didn't mean anything, but there was one thing he did know.

From this moment on, he knew, he was no longer alone.


End file.
